


Appoggiatura

by Apsacta



Series: Grace Notes [2]
Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: IS IT M, M/M, NSFW, You Have Been Warned, also slight angst, idk how to tag this, there's a bit of fucking involved, who can tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apsacta/pseuds/Apsacta
Summary: (an added note in their melody)
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: Grace Notes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853476
Comments: 22
Kudos: 77





	Appoggiatura

**Author's Note:**

> (not everything will make sense if you haven’t read Grace Notes – but if you’re here, I figure you have.)  
> I’m weak. I needed closure. Or whatever. Fuck it. This is what it is.  
> (You asked for it. I hope you blush).

_He would never have thought that missing someone could be so physical, an ache set so deep in his bones. He feels it settling into his skeleton, deformed knuckles and arthritic pains, hollowed bones, hollowed heart, barren spaces and cavities. It rests into the empty cavern behind his ribs, headless snakes and coils of smoke, all forming the shape of his name._

_The first year is the easiest, a parenthesis, a rest, hope still vivid in his chest – just a few weeks, just a few months – things will go back to the way they were in no time – how could it be any other way, they’d done so much, gotten so far – it can’t be over like that._

_But days pass and nothing happens, and weeks pass and nothing happens, and months pass and all stays the same. It takes two years before he comes to terms with the finality of his situation, inevitable and definitive like the death of his illusions. Advocacy and music mix with heartache until the emptiness feels like a character trait and his loss defines his gains._

_He lives a life of habit and consistency, forcing himself into a discipline that he never had, borrowed from the shadow in his heart, dedicated and methodical. He gets his degree in a foreign university, strange place and stranger people, displaced emotions and misplaced expectations. He’s no one but the whispers behind him, the rumours of a life that’s not his, imagined and redesigned by uninformed mouths._

_Violin playing once was love and now is loss, it’s an outpouring of feelings into unwilling ears, as if sharing the burden would make the weight easier to carry, and he wears his scars on his sleeve until he doesn’t anymore, until he gets tired of standing out and melts back into the crowd, invisible and forgotten._

_The pain, he gets used to with time. It’s a dull drum in the hollow of his chest, a blunt knife dragged against the skin of his knuckles, red scratches that infect sometimes but leave no scars other than the ones he already bears. He learns to lock memories behind the bars of his brain so that he can un-claw his fingers, pop dislocated bones back into their sockets and pretend nothing happened. The emptiness is harder to deal with, loneliness waking up with him and keeping him company far into the day._

_He moves around and nowhere feels home, settles into mediocrity because he has to, lives a parallel life in his head, one where he’s loved and touched with care._

_Year seven breaks him._

_He returns and from shadow becomes a ghost, waiting to be redeemed._

\------------>>><<<\------------

Brett settles back into Eddy’s life quietly, takes the spaces left empty in his house and fills them with his presence. It’s a soundless wave that colours everything different, brighter, lighter. He’s all that Eddy never could be, teases him about his perfect pitch, ten-year-old jokes that were only ever funny to them, makes friends with the neighbours and pets their cat in the front drive when Eddy sneezes. He teaches with a passion that Eddy didn’t know him to have, new facets of him bursting open under the sunlight. At night, he tosses and turns in the room next door, and when he doesn’t sleep Eddy doesn’t either. He counts Brett’s footsteps as he paces the room, runs arpeggios in his head when Brett practices with his mute on. 

It’s not the life they knew and the familiarity worries Eddy more than it reassures him. It’s not the same, maybe never will be, and Eddy craves a love that he won’t get, not unless he asks, and he doesn’t know how to. The cracks in his bones remain unfilled and his chest remains hollow, empty cavern, always waiting.

He wants to touch but doesn’t know how, leaves his fingers in Brett’s way, hoping for a brush, feels whiny, needy, wants to invade his space in ways that feel uncomfortable, doesn’t like how desperate he feels. He’s angry and it’s a new feeling, forgotten through the years, buried deep. He’s been robbed of Brett’s life, of his laughter and his struggle, and he’ll never get that back. The unfairness burns his throat.

Eddy doesn’t think that Brett will notice, but of course he does. Because he always did, still does. He confronts him with it, too, turns to him in the kitchen one day, says ‘dude, what do you want?’ and Eddy stares, speechless.

“Eddy?”

Brett’s first touch is gentle, hesitant. A careful hand on top of Eddy’s, fingers rubbing delicately at his wrist.

“Hey. Dude. If you want…”

He doesn’t finish because Eddy’s already folding himself around Brett, awkward hug, different from what Eddy remembers, but the need is still there as Eddy clumsily grabs at Brett’s clothes.

> _Their first hug was born out of Eddy’s anxiety. He’d wrapped himself around Brett in despair, as if he could absorb some of his strength by just holding him. Maybe it was then that he realised, with Brett rubbing his back gently and keeping Eddy against him with one hand at the back of his head. How could someone soothe him like that, unless…_
> 
> _It was easy. He loved Brett already, had since the start. How could he not have? But want and need were new. Not totally unexpected, though._
> 
> _He’d whispered Brett’s name several times, trying to get the words out, but it wasn’t time, then. Not yet._
> 
> _So he quietened down, controlled his breathing, controlled his heart, and Brett’s words of comfort made him feel better, made him feel seen, understood._
> 
> _So he said ‘I love you’, and it meant ‘thank you’. He said ‘you’re the best friend anyone can have’ and it meant ‘stay by my side’._
> 
> _So he kept the hug and the revelation that came with it safely tucked inside his heart, fed it with light, let it grow._
> 
> _They’d hugged again, after that first hug – for comfort, for luck, out of familiarity – and he’d said ‘I love you’ again – ‘I love you bro’ – but those times it meant ‘I love you, just you, only you’._

This hug feels different. Awkward. Miscalculated. This hug feels like Brett’s not the same, like Eddy’s not the same, like the physics are not quite right. It feels like he’s holding onto a body that his memory has recreated wrong, like bones are sticking out where they shouldn’t be, sizes misevaluated, too tight, not tight enough. Different. Not right.

“It’s not the same,” Eddy says with a voice that doesn’t want to come out. It breaks inside as he says the words, because it’s the last straw, the last hope he had to go back to what things were, to pick up exactly where they left off. “It doesn’t feel the same.”

He doesn’t want to cry. Not in front of Brett. Not like that.

He can’t help it.

“You’re a big baby,” Brett says and there’s something in his voice, a fondness that strikes at Eddy’s chest like lightning.

“Don’t call me a baby,” he tries to protest, but his heart’s not really in it, because his heart’s back in his chest, beating for what feels like the first time in forever.

“Too late, baby.” There’s something that sounds very much like a smile in Brett’s voice. “I’ve been calling you that in my head since the moment we met.”

Eddy wants to be offended, but he’s not. Somehow, he always knew. The chuckle escapes before he even realises, wet still with his tears. This is his Brett, the one he’s met all those years ago, the one who’s lived inside his head all this time.

“I thought it would be the same,” Eddy explains.

“We’ve grown old, hey…” 

He’d take offense, but it’s kind of true.

“You’re smaller than I remember.”

“Well, you’re just as dumb as I remember, so you see, some things don’t change.”

He’s offended now – sort of – and he intends to say it, but before he can, Brett pulls away from the hug, and it feels empty. It feels empty until Brett’s hand is hovering above his cheek, and there are hungry whimpers echoing inside Eddy’s brain. It feels empty until Brett wipes his tears away with his fingertips, empty until he traces lines from Eddy’s cheeks to his jaw, a memory that feels so, so…

“This still feels familiar,” Brett says, barely a whisper.

Eddy can’t breathe, feels like the first time, dumb and daring and almost desperate.

“Yeah?”

He wants it. So much. Much more than he had realised before. It’s as if Brett broke some kind of spell, and now Eddy’s all want and need again, all hunger and thirst, gaping hole inside his chest finally revealed for what it is.

“Yeah,” Brett says, and then he slides both hands behind Eddy’s neck, asks ‘what about this? Does this feel familiar still?’ right before he kisses him, smooth motherfucker.

> _They kissed for the first time because Eddy wanted to, and because he thought that Brett did too. Because he wasn’t blind and he’d seen the looks, he’d seen how his friend watched him sometimes, a little hungry, a little possessive._
> 
> _So he said it, and at that moment he felt so smooth and seductive, daring. And so embarrassed, so dumb, just a few hours later, when the memory popped back into his head, in the middle of a private lesson._
> 
> _“Do you_ want _to kiss me?”_
> 
> _The silence that followed was simultaneously the longest and shortest of Eddy’s life. Up until that point, he hadn’t considered it a possibility that the answer might be no. There was a brief panic, trickling from the top of his head to the centre of his chest, when Brett hesitated, hands into fists._
> 
> _But then… then he was digging into Eddy’s shoulder, running his hand up his neck and along his jaw, and Eddy leaned into the touch, struggling not to sigh, melting, careful but wanting. He closed his fingers around Brett’s wrist when he pulled his hand away, shaking, silently pleading for him to stay close._
> 
> _And then it was soft, much more so than he had anticipated, not enough almost, but Brett pulled him closer, kissed harder, and Eddy was lost forever, hot and warm and wanting._

This new kiss is careful, soft and sweet, and Eddy’s kind of angry at it.

It’s all little touches, fingertips brushing at his jaw, curving around his ear, almost ghost-like. It’s tentative and feathery-soft, and he hates it. It’s not the way Brett kisses, almost scared to hurt, cautious and subdued, waiting for Eddy to give. His Brett doesn’t ask for permission at every tiny gesture, doesn’t let Eddy lead the way, doesn’t wait for his cues.

It does reassure him, though, to know that he’s still wanted that way. But it’s not quite what he needs, not nearly enough to satisfy him. He misses the bite, the clawing at his skin, the feeling that each one of Brett’s touches means ‘mine’. He needs it hard and fast and hungry.

Brett pulls away too soon, too sweet, and he smiles softly, a little wistful. 

“Hey,” he says, quietly, then he says nothing else at all, fingertips still brushing at Eddy’s neck, too light, and Eddy whines, hungry with the taste of not enough, and he wants to run his tongue behind his own front teeth in despair.

He wants Brett to come claim what’s always been his, and if Brett won’t hold him tight enough to bruise, then he will. He’ll hug him until they both can’t breathe properly, until the pressure’s enough to meld their chests together, to turn their hearts into diamonds.

“Eddy,” Brett protests, but there’s a little keening at the end that sounds a lot like victory to Eddy’s ears.

Eddy isn’t entirely sure what he wants out of this, but he’ll start with Brett’s undivided attention, with hearing the sound of his own name coming from that mouth, Brett’s lips straining around the syllables, his teeth grazing at the edges. He wants more than he has now, for sure, wants to belong only to him again. Then like now, and forever. He’d plead on his knees if he could, beg for it, hungry and desperate, _touch me, please, make me yours. Own me_.

He keeps his face buried into Brett’s neck even after Brett’s grip loosens a bit, breathes in the feel of his skin, so close that he can almost taste it, until he feels Brett’s giggle reverberate inside of him, like soft tickles on the inner walls of his chest.

“Are you smelling me?”

“Brett.” The name comes out like a whine, small and vulnerable.

“Dude. You were. You were smelling me.”

Brett’s laughter goes high-pitched, dangerously close to wheezing, and he slides to the kitchen floor, liquid, in a fit of giggles. He drags Eddy down with him too, fingers dug into his left knee.

“Dude,” he says, dragging the word, pressing shaky fingers to the corner of his eyes as he wipes tears, “dude, I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

Brett sounds fucking hysterical now, and Eddy could scream out of frustration, out of want, out of the need to feel those shaky fingers at the corners of his own eyes, at his lips, inside his mouth.

 _‘I’ll bite you’_ he thinks, frustration snaking cracks all the way down his spine, ‘ _if you don’t fuck me, I’ll bite you.’_

But Brett’s still laughing, intermittent wheezes coming out of him, eyes crinkling happy. And Eddy feels happy too, then, warmth pooling up from the pit of his stomach, reaching his chest. That’s the sight, that’s what he’d been missing, too, and he could cry again now, and he doesn’t know if it’s out of frustration or out of happiness anymore, Brett’s forehead pressed to his, nice, soothing. He thinks that maybe Brett hasn’t laughed like this in a very long time.

“I forgot,” Brett says, his fingers pressing at Eddy’s lips. “Whiny.”

‘I’m not.” Eddy drags the last syllable a bit. Fine. If Brett wants to bait then he’ll bite.

“I know you,” Brett says in response, and presses a swift kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re whiny.”

“You’re a fucking tease,” Eddy groans, and Brett smiles, crooked and knowing.

When he kisses Eddy again, it’s still soft, but there’s an edge and he doesn’t stop even when Eddy wants to come up for air, doesn’t let him breathe. Eddy thinks he could choke right now and he’d still feel this happiness, bursting colours inside of him.

“I got you something,” Brett says then, face back to dead-panned innocence, “while you were in rehearsal this morning,” and his lips twitch a little at the end.

He gets up and leaves Eddy there on the tiled floor, half undone already. Eddy watches. Half his mind is drifting back to the rehearsal – he can still hear the wrong notes and the bad tempo if he concentrates, but playing is fun again, and it never really was before Brett. The other half of his mind follows him as he goes to the fridge, neck and shoulders and back and legs, enough to blind Eddy. Images and notes superimpose in his mind, he can almost hear an entire symphony playing on Brett’s body, and he blushes himself red just looking at his knees. _Goddammit, Eddy._

“Bubble tea!” Brett shouts, voice high, a little bouncy, two cups in his hands and a smile in his eyes.

“God, I can’t remember the last time I had boba,” Eddy says. It’s not true. It was with Brett, of course.

> _The last bubble tea– although none of them knew that it was the last – they shared it at Brett’s place, late one afternoon._
> 
> _They didn’t know, but Eddy kind of felt, already, that things were not going to go back to normal. It sat in his chest, uneasy, all the things that he was keeping to himself. The worries, as well. He was starting to grasp at the heaviness, but still..._
> 
> _He’d met Brett’s parents only a few months ago – like, met them properly, ‘here’s my boyfriend’ kind of meeting – and he’d had that hope, kind of dumb, maybe preposterous, but if it went well he’d kind of thought, in the back of his mind, that he’d go back to ask them – not immediately, but in a couple of years, perhaps – he’d go to see Brett’s parents, do this properly, the traditional way, make his mom proud._
> 
> _When Brett moved into his own place, Eddy would come and stay with him whenever he could, forget about university, forget about the protests, forget about everything. More often than not, he’d stop to get bubble tea on his way there. Brett was working himself worried thin in orchestra, and Eddy just wanted to make him smile a little._
> 
> _Brett must have felt it too, that the wind wasn’t blowing in their favour, that things were taking a turn for the worst. Even when they didn’t talk about it, Eddy could see it in his eyes, see it in the way Brett looked at him, that Brett was scared._
> 
> _When Eddy handed him the bubble tea, that last time, Brett stared at the bruises, not at the cup._

Brett watches him drink from the corner of his eye. He smiles, satisfied.

“So good, but just so you know,” Eddy groans, once the empty cup of boba is hanging loosely from his hand, “It’s not enough.”

Brett laughs, loud and clear.

“I know,” he says.

He finishes his own drink without a word, looks at Eddy while he does so, stares at him, almost defiant. Eddy could turn fucking liquid from that mouth alone.

Brett’s holding his hand then, but Eddy barely registers, fixated on the way Brett’s eyes shine, on the way he forms his words when he says ‘I know what you need’, on the way he kisses him in every room, fully again, intense burning all the way from the top of Eddy’s head to the back of his neck.

Eddy barely registers that he doesn’t have his glasses on anymore, only notices when Brett’s reaching up to brush at his eyelashes, fingers too close to stay in focus, silence suddenly too heavy. The same fingers, then, pushing at the corner of his mouth, still somehow too light, never doing the things that Eddy wants them to do.

Brett won’t let him. He pulls him down to suck at the skin behind his ear but won’t let Eddy do the same, drags his lower lip across Eddy’s throat, not even a kiss, and Eddy’s shaking now, the whines in the back of his throat tinged with pain, with want, with ten years of dreaming of this but waking up alone, with everything he wants to say but can’t, still too soon, too heavy, too much.

He feels Brett’s hands on his shoulders like it’s not really his body anymore, guesses his mouth at his throat, open, soft, _I’ve got you, Eddy, I’ve got you,_ whines more, loud, desperate _._

 _“_ Shhh, it’s okay, I know, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Brett pushes him down, then, the way he knows Eddy wants him to.

It’s the feel of the carpet under his knees that anchors Eddy back, and it’s okay, he knows how to do this, how to take him and follow the veins with his tongue, when and how to drag it a bit, jaw lax and cheeks hollowed. He knows the ways Brett needs to be undone even if he won’t ask for it, it’s okay, Eddy knows, he’s done this before.

This is what he needs too, this rush of sensation, warm inside and out, it’s always been like this, being allowed to give before he can take.

It’s the thrill he gets just from the noises coming out of Brett’s mouth, pleasure and pride mixed together. It’s the way he can feel it under the palm of his hands, when the muscles in Brett’s thighs tense, the little jolts and shivers. It’s how he can look up and see the flushed cheeks, dazed eyes, shiny lips parted around shaky breaths.

He can feel Brett’s fingers shake around strands of his hair, fingernails graze at his scalp, and he knows the way Brett’s eyelids will flutter if he moans at this, and it’s a different kind of power, having him fight to remain in control when he’s so desperate to pull at Eddy’s hair. It’s a different kind of power, and Eddy likes this, having Brett so flustered that he can’t get his words out, slurs them together, _EddyEddyEddy, pleaseagain, fuckEddyplease_ , and Eddy likes this, having him lose his speech gradually _._

> _The first time that it was like this, it was Eddy._
> 
> _They were lying down on Brett’s bed, warm and comfortable, and Eddy had been thinking about it for weeks by then, one step forward and then two steps back every time, nervous for no reason other than his fear to disappoint. Then he’d decided that he wanted it, and that he wanted it now, and maybe, from the way Brett’s fingers were wandering at Eddy’s hips, maybe Brett wanted it too._
> 
> _It felt daring, asking him, running fingers across his chest, and then kissing Brett’s neck, his jaw, kissing wherever he could reach and by the time he got to his thighs, he’d almost forgotten that he was nervous. That he’d barely done it before, and even then, it didn’t matter. With Brett, everything was different. It mattered in ways that Eddy couldn’t explain yet._
> 
> _He would do it again after that, because he liked how he felt, because it was quite something that he could unravel Brett in this way, with just his mouth._
> 
> _“Do you need a hand,” Brett offered, still a little breathless, after Eddy came back to him, birthday wishes a little brazen at the edge of his lips, but Eddy just smiled._
> 
> _“I’m fine,” he said, then he placed a kiss on top of Brett’s ear and whispered, elated still by what he’d just done, “next time, you can fuck me.” And then he blushed at his own boldness, turning crimson from the tip of his ears to his chest, and he hid his face against Brett’s neck, enjoying the little hitch in his breathing._

Brett pulls him off and Eddy’s trembling, throat too raw to speak, and Brett has to hold him through it, pets his hair soft, _there, better now_ , _I love you_ , _it’s all good,_ and he’s so beautiful that Eddy won’t even ask for more, won’t even ask to have him naked, perfect skin pressed to his so that he can map the moles and beauty spots with his tongue.

Maybe Brett wants just that though, maybe he needs eddy’s hands just like eddy’s hands need him, so maybe his own hands tremble just as much as Eddy’s when he takes off his clothes.

And it’s not weird, that Eddy wants to giggle himself silly just being pushed on the bed like that, naked, happy beyond what his brain can even grasp at, bursts of joy like tiny explosions inside his chest, because _fuck_ but he’s needed this.

And it’s not weird, that Eddy could come from this alone, from the weight of Brett’s body on his, from the way he touches him like it’ll never be enough, from the weight of his gaze, the look in his eyes. 

“How do you want to?” Brett asks, and god, Eddy almost loses his words from too much happiness, too much whatever this is that’s making him feel alive like this. 

“This, this is nice,” he manages after a while, Brett’s hands at his chest, at his neck, at his face, robbing him of all speech so that he can’t say more, keens a little and hopes Brett understands.

And it _is_ nice, relinquishing all control, Brett above him, knees by his hips, one hand flat on Eddy’s chest, holding himself up.

He gets to watch and there's nothing in his eyes but Brett, the look in his eyes, his skin, the way he gasps as Eddy counts his ribs with both hands, and goddammit he wants to, can’t get enough, fuck, but the way Brett shudders when he’s ready, the way his thighs tremble when Eddy pulls at his hips, he’d die for this, it’s all worth it, everything, fuck, goddammit.

He throws his head back, throat exposed, so much, god, so much, he feels it gathering inside his chest, along his spine, down to his gut. Brett’s left hand is at his throat almost immediately, gentle, running up until he catches Eddy’s chin with his fingers, _look at me Eddy, come on_. So Eddy does, catches Brett’s eyes, a little glazed already, his lips, bitten and red, down his chest, the pull of his muscles, god, everything.

Brett’s leaning forward, digging nails into Eddy’s shoulder, _let go Eddy, it’s alright_ and it’s so much, too much, Eddy’s half gone already, just watches, can’t really do much more than try and match his pace, too much already, the way Brett takes him in, so much, more than enough, and he’s weak maybe but he isn’t aware that he’s falling until Brett allows him to let go.

Brett holds him close after that, pressed to his chest, pets him lazy.

There’s something to be said about having him there naked and open when all is said and done, about leeching off his warmth, something that’s maybe better than everything else. _Iloveyouloveloveyou._ There’s a different kind of neediness that comes with it, with the night that falls upon them both.

“...so much. I’m never going to fall in love with anyone else.”

“Love you Eddy.” It’s lazy, Brett’s response, voice half-eaten by sleep already. He’s not going to pace through the house like a ghost tonight.

“You’re never going to love anyone else?”

“No. I never stopped loving you.”

> _The last time... the last time Brett said it, he was on a boat. He was tired, so tired, ten years of loss and want falling upon his shoulders all of a sudden, ten years of living a life in parenthesis catching up with him, but one hope though, one thing keeping him together still, a hand around his, warm and steady._
> 
> _“Are you alright?” Eddy asked._
> 
> _“Yeah...” a pause, “it’s weird though. I never thought...”_
> 
> _“I know...”_
> 
> _“Is it weird, that I’ll miss it, despite everything?”_
> 
> _“No, I get it. Do you want to talk about it?”_
> 
> _“No. Tell me about the town, about the house... no, better, tell me about the neighbour’s cat.”_
> 
> _“It’s a pest. I’m allergic.”_
> 
> _He laughed, then, because this was just so Eddy. “Do you try to pet it anyway?”_
> 
> _“Every time. It makes me sneeze.”_
> 
> _There was a long silence, and Brett wondered how he could say everything that he’d wanted to say during all those years. He kept thinking about it. There was so much that he wanted to say. Now his mind felt blank._
> 
> _“Thank you Eddy.”_
> 
> _Eddy just shrugged. “Don’t mention it. You did the same for me.”_
> 
> _“You didn’t have to,” Brett said, hoping his voice sounds steady._
> 
> _“Yeah I did. I love you.”_
> 
> _“As do I. I never stopped loving you.”_

“Can we stay in bed till noon tomorrow?”

Eddy feels the rumble in Brett’s chest more than he hears his chuckle at this.

“Go to sleep, Eddy.”

_They won’t. Around eight in the morning, the neighbour’s cat will sneak in through an open window and jump on the bed, and Brett will laugh silly as Eddy sneezes, and Eddy will pout when the cat doesn’t pay him any attention, preferring to rub his head against Brett’s hand, and Brett will return from letting the cat back outside to find that Eddy’s fallen back to sleep, and he’ll watch him until Eddy opens one eye, pulls him back against his chest, and tries to smother him with kisses._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading?  
> (feels weird saying this)


End file.
